


independence

by Athina_Blaine



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Long-Distance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24305248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athina_Blaine/pseuds/Athina_Blaine
Summary: Jon goes on a business trip
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 141





	independence

Jon threw his backpack onto the hotel bed and slumped into the desk chair. It boggled him how he could even think about sitting after being trapped in an uncomfortable airplane seat for the last 12 hours, but he just didn’t have the energy to stand. 

Weak, grey lighting wormed through the ratty curtains, washing out the already muted yellow walls and doing nothing to lift the temperature of the room. The second hand of the analogue clock twitched in place.

You get what you pay for.

Martin had insisted he would stay up late waiting for Jon's call, but guilt still twisted his stomach as he dialled his number. He wished Martin would have chosen to get some sleep instead, but, then again, the thought of going another day without hearing from him didn’t feel particularly good either.

The call clicked.

“Hello? Jon?”

“Evening.”

“I believe you mean, _good morning_."

"Shut up."

"Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting around for ages.”

“I told you I wouldn’t be getting in until around 7. If anything, I’m ahead of schedule.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was just kind of hoping you were exaggerating how long it would take. You know, so if you get there a bit early, it’s like a nice little surprise.”

“Martin, if you’re expecting an airport to ever being running _ahead_ of schedule, I’m sorry to say, you’ve already lost.”

Martin’s laugh was staticky in the receiver. “So, what’s it like? Sample any cuisines? Are the locals friendly?”

“Yes, I’ve had a bagel sandwich from a coffee shop at the airport, and the cab driver who escorted me to the hotel shouted at me.”

“What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?”

“Ah, well, you know, you can be a bit— And it’s not your fault! You’ve just been in a flying metal box for the last day, so it’s totally reasonable to be grumpy. But you can be a bit tetchy at times.”

Jon sighed. “I suppose I was a bit more aggressive expressing my umbrage at the way he handled my bags than was strictly necessary.”

“Jon.”

“My laptop was in there! He _threw_ it.”

“Of course, dear.”

Jon curled up in his chair, wrapping his arm around his knees. “So, what have you been doing?”

“Oh, nothing interesting. Just rewatching old episodes of _Emergency Contact_. Couldn’t you have at least waited until Monday to fly across the world so we could watch the new one together? Kathy is _finally_ going to find out what happened to her fiancé.”

“I'm sorry, eldritch fear monsters have very little respect for broadcast network scheduling.”

“Pity.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. What’s the point of knowing some big secret if you don’t have anyone to talk to about it? And don’t just try to _know_ it, either!”

“That would be a terrible misuse of my abilities.”

“Since when did you give a toss about that?” Martin yawned, smacking his lips gently. “Well, I guess I should let you go. You must be exhausted.”

“Not really.” Jon didn’t sleep much these days. “But you need to get up early for work, so …”

Martin hummed. The second-hand of the clock continued ticking pointlessly. A film of dust was beginning to settle on the back of Jon's throat. What a terrible hovel this place was.

“Oh, wait, before you go, I wanted to tell you, you won’t _believe_ what Melanie found while digging around for the Davis case.”

“What is it?”

“Okay, so, you know how the guy was acting _super_ weird and it’s, like, yeah, he definitely killed his ex-wife, right?”

“Yeah?” Jon said, pulling the thin blanket off the bed before settling back down.

“Well, guess what Melanie found in the storage closet of his mechanic’s shop?”

“Her dismembered corpse?”

“What? No, his toolbox. What’s the matter with you? You’re so morbid.”

"Oh."

“That’s a joke, I’m joking. Melanie didn’t find anything, was talking my ear off all day yesterday about it. Absolutely exhausting. I mean, I get it, Brighton isn’t exactly close, but remember when I had to go all the way to bloody Plymouth?”

Jon did, but he let Martin remind him anyway, and closed his eyes.

Snow crunched under Jon’s feet as he limped through the street, a packet of files tucked under his arm. The custodian at the Federova Research Centre had been furious at the hour with which he asked for one of their documents, but she had quickly reconsidered when she helpfully told him about the gambling ring she was running.

He still felt terribly guilty about it, but it got a little easier every time. He didn’t know if that made it worse.

A gust of icy wind sliced through his coat, chilling his bones. His nose burned as he breathed down the arctic air. He had been entirely unprepared for this miserable weather and fantasized about his dry hotel and a cup of hot coffee.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling off his glove with his teeth, he took it out and opened the screen.

> _aaahhhh!! im burning up!!! help!!!_

Attached was a picture of the sun shining in the middle of a blue sky. Smiling, Jon typed a response, the tips of his fingers already uncomfortably numb.

> _Be sure to wear plenty of sunblock_

He angled his phone at the night sky, blanketed in thick, dreary clouds, taking a picture and sending it.

> _oh, yikes. you sure im not the one on vacation?_

> _You know this isn’t a vacation_

> _yeah, going on vacation would require you taking that stick out of ur arse_

_> ):<_

_> im sorry, it’s a nice stick_

> _Thank you_

> _also why are you awake??_

> _Research_. _Need I remind you that you were the one who texted me?_

> _i was expecting you to see it tomorrow!! go to bed!!_

> _Yes, darling_

A light snowfall had begun. Wild animals skittered by in the distance, dark shadows in the corner of his eyes. Tucking his phone away, he continued his trudge, the bruises on his left leg throbbing.

He’d go to bed once he got these documents sorted.

The black ooze caught Jon’s foot and he crashed to the ground, shoulder crunching under his weight. The creature crept up to his knee, squelching as it latched onto his other leg, gelatinous and soggy. Hissing sharply through his teeth, he clawed the dirt, pulling himself forward. His foot had grown numb.

The creature had reached his waist and his fingers sluiced through the wet soil, his body too heavy to move. Pins and needles crawled up his legs before he lost feeling in them entirely. Though it had no mouth, the creature groaned, the sound of satisfaction one might make as it bit down into their meal.

He grabbed his phone before it ate his pocket and made a call. It rang.

It went to voicemail.

The desperate words died on his tongue. He shut his eyes tightly, pressing his face into the ground and breathing in the musty earth.

“Um, hello.”

A slimy tendril crawled along the back of his neck, leaving a damp trail in its wake before creeping into his hair. It would never wash out.

“Just wanted to see if you were awake. Of course, you aren’t, it’s like 4 AM. Not your fault. Nothing new on my end.” The creature squeezed, pressing his ribs against each other. “ _No_ , no, that was a lie. I’m currently being attacked by some kind of blob monster. Didn’t want to worry you, sorry. That was stupid of me.”

The scent of sweet organic fumes struck him, and he stiffened, stomach churning.

“I am trying very, _very_ hard not to die right not, but just in case, figured, should give you a call. Seemed like the right thing to do.” He chuckled, which turned into a splutter as the thick sludge began filling his mouth and his nose. “I’m sorry.”

He ended the call, hand falling limp, still cradling his phone. It was swallowed shortly after.

The airport was fit to burst as Jon worked his way through it, suffering bumped shoulders and crying children the whole way. The lingering smell of floor cleaner and cigarette smoke made his world spin on an axis, but he pressed on.

He was home. He was home, and he’d be in his bed within the hour. He pictured changing into his pyjamas and crawling under his cosy bedsheets, being held, as he was shoved through customs by sour faced security guards who wanted to be there even less than him and wanted him to know it.

When he reached the airport lobby, something barrelled into his chest.

“ _Finally_ ,” said Martin, squeezing Jon hard enough to make his eyes pop. “You were supposed to be in two hours ago.”

“I told you it was delayed,” Jon said, resting his cheek on Martin’s shoulder. He inhaled the scent of his own lemon detergent and had a vision of Martin cycloning through their flat in a cleaning frenzy. “You said you were going to wait at home.”

“I lied and you knew it.”

“I did not."

Martin looked up, a gentle smile on his lips. It trembled, his eyes growing misty, before it cracked. “So, um, I know this is going to sound really crazy, but …”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you could just, you know, never, ever leave again? Ever?”

He looked so small and scared as he said it. Jon had done this to him. Again.

Jon pulled him back into his arms. “I can’t promise that. But it sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” Martin sniffed. “And I don’t mean just these little jaunts to the other side of the flippin’ planet where you try and get yourself killed. If you go to Tesco, I'm gonna be on your arse. Right? Got it?”

“Of course.”

“You can still go to the bathroom by yourself, that’s okay.”

“Perfectly reasonable. You're dizzying me.”

Martin pinched his arm and pressed his mouth against Jon’s, slow and hungry, before dragging them towards the exit gate.

“Come on, let’s get you in bed.”


End file.
